It looks like blind men tried to fashion it.
I cannot mask it even with my dress.
Yanking and pulling, I'm now in a fit.
Alas it is for naught to work this day.
How I wish I could change this wretched hair.
Perhaps I'll cover it with a berret.
I want to pull it out, but do I dare?
I'll cut that which doth give me much pain.
The times I fret over my hair is past!
No time to think if I am insane.
At last I raise the blade and swipe it fast.
This boyish look doth please mine eye to play.
I art most beauteous this day!
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